Wild Wild West 1. Right Men for the Job

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**The Night of the Tremulous Trip**  
A Wild Wild West story  
by Deana

This story takes place after the pilot episode, 'The Night of the Inferno'.

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Artie set down his empty champagne glass and leaned back on the couch with a yawn. Lydia Monteran had just left the train, and Jim had gone with her: probably to give her one last goodbye kiss. He looked at the clock before closing his eyes. It was eleven, and he was tired after the dangerous events of the day. He raised a hand to touch the left side of his head near his eye, where a bullet had grazed him. It was shocking to see how close he'd come to being shot in the head, and he sighed as he pulled his hand away and looked at his fingers to make sure that it wasn't still bleeding.

The door suddenly opened, and Artie quickly lowered his hand. "Well, James my boy," he said. "How do you feel after our first successful mission for the president? Exhilarated?"

Jim saw Artie's action, and was relieved to not see any fresh blood. "That's the perfect word for it," he said, coming around the couch and sitting down next to him. "How about you?"

"The same…hence my choice of that word," Artie said, with a smile.

Jim smiled back, though it shook him up to see the bullet graze along his friend's temple. Another inch and things would have turned tragic. "How's your head?"

"Oh, it's fine," Artie said. In truth, it didn't hurt as much as it could…though all the champagne was adding to the pain. He yawned again.

"We've both definitely earned our sleep tonight," Jim said, standing.

"Umm humm," Artie mumbled, sleepily, eyes closed. "And on our own train, even."

Jim smiled and looked around. Their own private train…it was amazing.

Suddenly, the train's whistle blew and it started up. It took a couple of minutes to gain momentum, and soon, they were chugging along.

Artie almost fell asleep where he was, but he forced his eyes open and stood. They headed down the hall to their compartments. "'Night, Jim," Artie said.

"Goodnight," Jim replied.

Artie headed inside and quickly changed his clothes before eagerly climbing under the covers. The gentle swaying of the train didn't prevent him from falling asleep; he was out within minutes.

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Jim was an early riser and was up before Artie, sitting on the couch drinking coffee. He'd telegraphed the President to tell him that he and Artie had completed their mission, and Grant had been very pleased and amazed that they'd succeeded so quickly. He'd ended his telegram with, 'I knew that you were the right men for the job', and Jim knew that Artie would be thrilled to hear that. He looked at the clock, wondering when his friend planned to get up.

Artie woke when the train suddenly went around a corner. With a yawn, he remembered the events of the previous day and opened his eyes, looking around his compartment, still amazed that they were traveling the country in their own train! He quickly rose and tied his robe around himself before leaving the room and heading down the hall.

Jim looked up when Artie came in. "There you are."

Artie frowned. "What? 'There you are'? You say that as if it's late." He looked at the clock. "It's only 8."

Jim smiled. "You know what they say, 'early to bed, early to rise'."

"Not according to my great-aunt Maude," Artie replied. "According to her, there was no luxury greater than lying in bed in the morning until you _want_ to get up!"

Jim chuckled, knowing that Artie didn't really _have_ a 'great-aunt Maude'.

Artie poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and brought it to the couch, sitting down beside his friend. He took a sip before saying, "Jim…I think I should be the one to make the coffee from now on."

Jim laughed. "Then you'd better get up _earlier_ in the morning!"

Artie chuckled.

"I telegraphed Grant," Jim said.

Artie sipped his coffee again. "Did he answer yet?"

Jim nodded. "He said that he knew we were the right men for the job."

Artie smiled. He downed the rest of his coffee and slung his arm around his friend's shoulders. "That's right, James my boy!" he exclaimed. "And we're going to _enjoy_ this new chapter of our lives!"

Jim smiled back, though he couldn't help but notice again the bullet graze along Artie's temple.

Artie was fully aware of the dangers himself, but when the president had offered him the job, he didn't hesitate, just as Jim hadn't. They'd both worked together under President Grant during the war, and knew each other as well as they knew themselves. They were an unbeatable team.

Artie stood and refilled his coffee cup. "More oil—I mean, coffee, Jim?"

Jim chuckled. "No thanks, I already had seconds."

Artie sipped his coffee as he headed over to the window and peeked out, watching the scenery fly by. "Did Grant give us another assignment yet?" he asked.

Jim shook his head. "No. I don't think he expected us to finish our first one so fast."

Artie turned around and leaned against the wall, nodding. "It went faster than _I_ expected, too."

They were quiet for a few minutes, before Jim said, "How's your head feel?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Artie said, reaching a hand towards the cut. "It only hurts when I touch it."

"Then don't touch it," Jim told him.

Artie chuckled, before putting his cup on the table and heading back to his compartment to get dressed.

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Jim and Artie spent the day talking, catching each other up on what had gone on in their lives since they'd seen each other last. The hours flew by, and before they knew it, it was suppertime.

Artie, who enjoyed cooking, made baked chicken.

"This is delicious," Jim told him.

"Of course it is," Artie joked. "My great-aunt Maude's special recipe."

Jim laughed.

"Speaking of that dear old lady," said Artie. "I think we should use her as a secret code."

Jim looked at him. "Secret code?"

Artie nodded as he chewed. "Say we get caught in the middle of a dangerous situation and one of us comes up with a spectacular idea. When one of us mentions 'Aunt Maude', the other will know that he's about to do something and to be ready."

Jim chewed thoughtfully, trying to figure out how it would work. It sounded pretty strange.

"Say some arch enemy is taunting us," Artie said. He then changed his voice to sound like some evil villain. "You two thought that you could outwit me? Haha, you failed, you fools, and now you die!" He then changed his voice to do a pretty good impression of Jim. "Artie's great-aunt Maude might have something to say about that." Artie then went back to his normal voice. "And then: wham! We both pull out some scientific gadgets—or hidden guns—and that's the end of Mr. Enemy!"

Jim's expression went from surprise to humor, and he couldn't help but laugh. "You should've stayed on the stage. I didn't know that you could imitate my voice so well."

Artie smiled, with a shrug. "My acting career was loads of fun, but now, that skill will help us on our missions. I can wear disguises and become anyone."

Jim nodded. Artie was definitely right about that.

The rest of the evening passed quickly, and suddenly, the clock was striking ten.

"I think I'll go to bed and read," Artie said.

Jim nodded. "All right. 'Night, Artie."

Both agents stood, and in that moment, two things happened: the train suddenly swayed as it hit a hard corner, and Artie reeled backwards.

Jim didn't even think; he lunged forward and grabbed him before he could fall and hurt himself. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

Artie's head was spinning. "What?" he said, confused. "You didn't feel that?"

Of course Jim had, but it hadn't been strong enough to send him off-balance…he couldn't understand how it had done that to his friend. "I felt it, but it didn't seem that bad to me. Are you feeling all right?"

Artie nodded, which made his head spin even worse. "I'm fine," he lied.

Jim frowned. "What about your head?"

Artie reached up to touch the wound. "It's superficial, just a graze to the skin. It didn't cause a concussion, if that's what you're asking." He sighed, wishing his brain would stay still. "I'm fine…I guess that turn just really caught me off guard, that's all."

Jim shrugged. What other explanation could there be? "All right," he said, reluctantly letting go of him.

Artie gave Jim an encouraging smile and they turned to head to their compartments.

Artie used all of his willpower to make it there without trouble—so Jim would think that he _was_ fine—and managed to succeed. Once inside, he sat on his bed and took a deep breath, and the dizziness lessened. Relieved, he sat there for another minute before he rose to change his clothes, but the dizziness returned. By the time he got into bed, he'd changed his mind about reading…

TBC


	2. Doesn't Make Sense

Jim slept like a rock, and when he woke the next morning, he had the vague sense that something was wrong, before remembering what had happened to Artie the night before. Quickly, he rose and headed to the next compartment, quietly pushing it open and heading inside.

Artie was fast asleep, and didn't hear him.

Jim was relieved to see that he appeared to be fine, and quietly left, heading to the galley and making coffee. Once it was ready, he took a cup over to the couch and sat down, sipping it, thinking back to the night before. The incident still puzzled him, and he ran through it in his mind: Artie had stood just as the train went around a corner, and lost his balance…only, it had seemed to be more than that. Artie hadn't caught himself; he didn't even try…as if he'd been _unable_ to try. Jim realized that if he hadn't grabbed him, his friend would've ended up on the floor. That wasn't normal, especially since the turn hadn't been enough to affect Jim _at_ _all_.

Jim thought back to the bullet graze on Artie's head. Were they wrong, and the wound was serious after all? It appeared to be just as Artie had said; a mere graze to the skin, but in light of this new development, they definitely needed to reassess it.

On the other hand, was it possible that Artie really _was_ simply caught off guard from the turn, and was fine after all?

With a sigh, Jim sipped his coffee, wishing that Artie would get up.

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Less than an hour later, Artie awoke. Having forgotten what had happened, he rolled onto his side so he could see the clock on the nightstand, but the room appeared to continue moving even after he'd stopped. He gasped and closed his eyes, covering them with one hand and quickly lying flat again.

The dizziness improved after a minute of keeping still, and Artie eventually removed the hand from his eyes and reopened them, taking a deep breath. Carefully, he sat up, and the dizziness increased again. _What in the world is going on here?_ he asked himself, putting a hand on the side of his head and closing his eyes.

He suddenly felt the bullet graze under his fingers, and he touched it carefully, seeing that it didn't even hurt much. _So how could it be serious enough to be causing this?_ he wondered.

With a sigh, he carefully moved to the side of the bed and slowly stood up, one hand on the nightstand. He felt like he was looking into one of those distorted mirrors at the circus, but he managed to grab his robe off a nearby chair and shrug it on before making his way towards the door. It was a disorienting trip down the hall, and he spotted Jim standing up from one of the couches.

Jim had just decided to go check if Artie was awake, and turned to see his friend at the end of the hall, just inside the room. "Artie!" he said, hurrying over. "How do you feel?"

Artie had one hand on the wall; his face was pale and his eyes looked dull. "I'm all right," he said, not realizing how bad he looked.

Jim frowned and took his arm. "You don't _look_ all right," he said, bringing him over to sit at the table. He looked at the graze on the side of his friend's head with a sigh. "Tell me what's wrong," he demanded.

Artie echoed the sigh. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hide it from Jim for long, so why lie? "I'm dizzy."

"Why?"

Artie turned his head—slowly—to look up at him. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be sitting here right now trying to figure it out."

Jim saw nothing amiss with the bullet graze and straightened up before taking a couple of steps and sitting in another chair. "You can't think of anything that would be causing it?"

Artie shook his head without thinking, before wincing and closing his eyes.

Alarmed, Jim reached over and grabbed his arm.

It was a moment before Artie blinked his eyes open again. "Remind me not to do that," he said.

Now Jim was even more concerned. "This doesn't make sense," he said. "Is that your only symptom? Dizziness?"

Artie almost nodded, but caught himself. "Yes…I think so."

"You think so?"

Artie sighed. "I feel…very strange," he said, closing his eyes again and rubbing them. "But it's probably _because_ of the dizziness." He blinked his eyes open and looked at Jim.

Jim stared back. "Did anything else happen to you on our case? Anything at all?"

"No," Artie said, remembering not to shake his head that time.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Jim declared.

Artie sighed. He hated going to doctors, but he seemed to have no choice; though there was always the chance that it would go away before they got to one.

"Is the dizziness constant?" Jim asked. "Does it stop when you sit down?"

"It gets _better_ when I sit down, but it doesn't go away," Artie told him.

Jim couldn't imagine being dizzy non-stop. "This makes no sense," he repeated.

Artie agreed.

"It seemed to strike you when you stood up as the train went around the corner last night," Jim said. "Did you feel anything before that happened?"

Artie hesitated. "Well, I did, but I ignored it."

"Why?" Jim asked.

Artie shrugged. "We had wine with dinner, and brandy as we talked. I just thought I'd accidentally had too much to drink."

Jim nodded. That made sense, though Artie hadn't drunk more than Jim had ever seen him drink…and he'd drank just as much with no ill effects at all. He studied his friend as he sat there at the table. "Are you hungry? Do you want some coffee? Do you want to lie down?"

Artie blinked a few times. "Coffee would be nice…though who knows, maybe it's your coffee that _did_ this to me!"

Jim chuckled and went into the galley to get it. When he came back out, Artie was sitting just as he'd left him. He placed the cup before his friend and watched as Artie picked it up and slowly brought it to his lips. He didn't miss or spill it, which was a relief.

"I'm going to tell Orrin to stop at the next town so a doctor can look at you," Jim said.

Artie sighed at that, but how could he protest? "All right."

Jim was relieved _and_ concerned at Artie's acquiescence. He went over to the speaking tube and blew into it to get the conductor's attention. Once he answered, Jim told him what to do before putting it away and going back to the table, looking down at his friend and not liking what he saw.

Artie was fighting the urge to cover his eyes with one hand. The dizziness _had_ gotten better once he'd sat down, but he was still very lightheaded and it was annoying.

Jim took his friend's arm. "Why don't you lie down? Once the train stops, I'll help you get dressed and we'll go."

Artie almost nodded, but managed to stop himself. He stood slowly, but it apparently wasn't slow enough.

Jim grabbed his friend's other arm when Artie's eyes practically rolled and he lost his balance. Jim quickly pulled him over to the couch and laid him on it, before sitting beside him and grasping his arms. "Artie?" he said, urgently, hoping that he hadn't passed out.

Artie's eyes were closed, but he moved his head slightly. "I'm all right," he mumbled.

Jim doubted that. Standing, he went back over to the speaking tube and told Orrin to hurry.

TBC


	3. Is there a Doctor in the House?

Jim didn't leave Artie's side for the rest of the journey and finally, they arrived at a town. It even had it's own train station, which Jim was relieved to see, as he didn't think that Artie could handle horseback at the moment.

Carefully, he helped his friend up off the couch, quickly wrapping an arm around Artie's back in case he lost his balance again. He was relieved when Artie managed to stay upright, however shakily, and he slowly helped him get down the hall to his compartment.

Artie was silent as Jim got him inside, bringing him over to his bed and sitting him down. He took a deep breath and let it out noisier than he intended, blinking his eyes against the dizziness.

Jim made sure that Artie was safely seated before fetching some clothes out of the armoire and helping his friend get into them. It took longer than they expected, and as Jim helped Artie towards the door again, Artie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was surprised at his reflection. The man looking back dressed in the tan pants, high boots, and fringed jacket looked nothing like his usual self: face too pale, eyes half-closed, posture slumped…_What's wrong with me? _he asked himself.

"I don't know, Artie, but we're going to find out."

Artie was surprised at Jim's statement, and realized that he'd spoken aloud without realizing it. He said nothing more as Jim got him out the door, down the hall, and outside the train. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, and it lightened his spirits slightly; it was sunny and the air was warm…not hot, and not cold.

Jim was holding onto him tightly, looking around to see if he could spot the doctor's office from where they stood. He didn't, so he motioned for a carriage, told the driver where to go, and helped Artie get in.

The carriage bounced its way down the street and Artie unexpectedly sneezed. He groaned and put both hands on his head when it felt like it was about to spin off his neck.

Jim, sitting beside him, grasped Artie's arm tightly.

Artie sniffed, suddenly finding that his nose was getting stuffy. _Don't tell me we're in Kansas,_ he thought to himself. Every time he was in Kansas in the spring, he sneezed. He wondered if this was the reason for his dizziness, before remembering that it had started while they were still in New Mexico.

A few minutes later, they arrived, and Jim helped Artie get out. Artie almost missed the last step, but managed to keep his footing thanks to Jim's quick reflexes. Jim tossed a coin up to the driver before carefully helping his friend to the door and opening it without knocking. "Hello?" he exclaimed.

The doctor came out of a back room, and at the sight of Jim holding Artie up, he hurried over and got on the other side. "What happened?" he asked, helping Jim get Artie into the room that he'd just come out of.

"He's been constantly dizzy since last night," Jim said.

The doctor frowned as they sat Artie on the table. "Any other symptoms?"

Jim looked at his friend. "Artie?" he said, in case something had popped up that he wasn't aware of yet.

Artie took a deep breath, blinking repeatedly. "No," he replied.

The doctor put a hand under Artie's chin and looked into his eyes. "No concussion," he said. "Tell me what you feel, young man."

Artie sighed. "Everything is spinning. It gets better when I sit down, but it never goes away."

"Humm…" the doctor said. "Have you ever been prone to dizzy spells?"

"Not for no reason," Artie said.

The doctor suddenly noticed the cut on the side of his head. "What's this?"

"A bullet graze," Jim told him. "It happened yesterday. Could that be what's causing this?"

The doctor studied it. "I doubt it, it's just a graze to the skin." He picked up Artie's wrist and checked his pulse, before taking out a stethoscope and listening to his heart and lungs. "Have you ever had any trouble with your ears?"

"No," Artie said.

"Are you a heavy drinker?"

"No."

The doctor put his hand on Artie's forehead to check for fever, and found none. "Have you been ill lately or taken any medicine?"

"No," Artie answered.

"Has anything in your life changed dramatically?"

Artie thought for a second. "We've been on a train a lot lately."

"Aha," said the doctor. "Have you ever suffered from motion sickness?"

"Motion sickness?" Artie repeated, surprised at the notion. "No…and I'm not nauseated."

"Thank goodness for that," the doctor said. "But motion sickness can take different forms. Have you ever done heavy traveling by train _before_?"

Artie hesitated. "No, I haven't."

"Humm," the doctor said again. "I want you to try something." He looked around the room, before pointing to the wall behind him to Artie's right. "Keep your eyes focused on that picture and tilt your upper body to the left."

Artie obeyed.

"Did the dizziness get worse?" the doctor asked.

"A little," Artie answered.

"Now do the opposite…look at the picture on the left and tilt to the right."

Artie obeyed, and almost instantly toppled towards Jim, who grabbed him, thankfully standing on Artie's right side.

Artie inhaled sharply, putting a hand over his eyes.

"Just as I thought," the doctor said. "You either have something going on inside one of your ears—the right one, most likely—or you are suffering from motion sickness. There are other causes of dizziness that are harder to determine, but these are the likeliest reasons."

The possibility of motion sickness while living on a train was preposterous. "Oh, great," Artie said.

"If it's his ears, then what can we do?" Jim asked, still holding onto his friend.

The doctor sighed. "That's not something that is easy to treat. Unfortunately, doctors don't have much knowledge yet when it comes to things of that nature," he said, apologetically. "There could be an infection in your inner ear…if so, it should clear up in time."

"Should?" Artie mumbled, hand still over his eyes.

"Well, if it's minor, it should heal without complication and you'll be back to normal," the doctor said.

"And if it's _not_ minor?" Jim asked.

The doctor sighed again. "If it's very serious, then you could lose some of your hearing in the affected ear."

Artie lowered the hand from his eyes and looked at him.

"Does your hearing seem dimmed on either side?" the doctor asked.

"Not that I can tell," Artie said.

"That's good, at least," said the doctor. "There are some remedies for dizziness that we've discovered." He looked at Jim. "Put lemon in his water. Also, ginger and nutmeg help, as well as chamomile."

Jim looked around for something to write with, and spotted a pencil and paper on a nearby counter. With his left hand still gripping Artie's arm, Jim reached over and grabbed them, putting the paper on the table and writing the list down.

"I wish there was more that I could do," the doctor said to Artie. "I imagine that it must be miserable to be constantly dizzy."

Artie sighed. "Miserable is the word."

"How long do you think this will take to go away?" Jim asked, sticking the paper in his pocket.

"It depends," said the doctor. "If it's motion sickness, then it might _not_." He looked at Artie. "You'd have to stop traveling by train."

Artie looked at Jim at that.

"If it's an infection, it'll clear up," the doctor said again. "If it's something else…well, there are cases where people suffer dizziness for years…even all their lives. I don't have the resources to figure out the exact cause. Dizziness often goes undiagnosed because of the mystery surrounding it."

Artie sighed.

"Just get some rest, try the remedies that I suggested, and you'll probably be fine," the doctor said. "The only thing left to do is visit a big hospital if it doesn't improve."

Jim nodded. "Thank you, doctor." He took out his wallet and handed him a bill. "Is this enough?"

The doctor nodded. "Too much…especially since there wasn't much that I could do."

"Keep it," said Jim. "Come on, Artie." He helped his friend slide off the table, holding onto him tightly lest he lose his balance.

Artie managed to stay upright. He realized that he wasn't quite as dizzy as he'd been before they'd arrived, and he wondered if that meant that it _was_ motion sickness. He sincerely hoped not…how was he supposed to remain Jim's partner in the Secret Service if he couldn't travel by train?

TBC


	4. False Arrest

Jim helped Artie walk out the door, and looked around for another carriage.

Artie manage to notice that there was a restaurant across the street. "Jim," he said. "Why don't we eat before we go back?"

Jim looked at him, surprised. "Can you handle eating out?"

Artie almost nodded, before catching himself. "I think so." In truth, he wanted to remain off the train for as long as possible so he could see if the dizziness went away; if it did, then he would know that it _was_ motion sickness.

Jim's first instinct was to take Artie back to the train so he could lie down, but if Artie wanted to eat here, he wasn't going to refuse him. Slowly, he walked Artie across the street and inside, where they sat at the table closest to the door.

Artie took a deep breath and let it out heavily, glad to be sitting again.

A girl quickly appeared at their table to take their order. Jim asked for eggs and ham, and Artie asked for pancakes.

As they waited, Artie had to resist the urge to put his elbow on the table and rest his chin in his hand. The dizziness did feel a little better, but it was still there and very annoying.

The food didn't take long to arrive, and as they ate, Jim watched Artie like a hawk. He was glad to see that though Artie ate slowly, he seemed to manage all right. The first bite appeared to confuse him at first, as Artie stared at his pancake-laden fork for a second or two before eating it, as if trying to gauge its distance from his face.

Once they were finished, Jim was glad to see that Artie wasn't quite as pale. "How you doing?" he asked, as he placed money on the table to pay for their breakfast.

"All right, considering," Artie answered. He moved as if to stand, before hesitating.

Jim quickly stood and took his friend's arm, helping him up slowly. He waited a few seconds for Artie to orient himself before carefully helping him towards the door. "Do you see the general store?" Jim asked, once they were outside. "Oh, nevermind," he said afterwards, realizing that Artie would have a hard time looking for it while nothing was standing still to him.

Artie did look, as his dizziness was not as bad as when he'd been on the train. Though he was glad for the respite, he was upset at the notion that he really _could_ have motion sickness.

Jim waved down a carriage and helped Artie get in before climbing in himself. The general store wasn't far, and when they arrived, Jim quickly got out and went inside.

Artie looked out the window, turning his head every which way. The dizziness was still there, especially when he turned his head, and he knew that it was going to take a while to figure out whether it really was motion sickness or not.

Jim came out with a sack and got back in. He took something out and held it up with a smile.

It was a lemon.

"They had everything that the doctor suggested," Jim said.

Artie smiled. "Great, thanks."

Jim nodded. "Anytime, Artie."

The carriage rode off to the rail yard, and a minute later, they were back inside the train.

Artie sighed with relief as he sank down on the couch, while Jim disappeared into the galley. It was disorienting to close his eyes while his vision wouldn't stay still, and he eventually reopened them…just in time to see a glass appear in front of his face. It was obvious what it was, so he took it from Jim and sipped it.

"I added some sugar so it wouldn't be so bitter," Jim told him.

Artie tasted it and looked up at him. "Well, I just learned something new about you: you make good lemonade."

Jim chuckled and sat down.

Artie sighed before saying, "Jim…what are we going to do if it _is_ motion sickness?"

Jim sobered. "I don't know."

Artie sighed again and drank some more. "I don't want to back out of this job. That will be so disappointing…in many ways."

Jim nodded. "For me, too."

Artie smiled, turning his head carefully to look at him. He finished his lemonade before handing Jim the empty glass. "That's it then. I refuse to accept that it's motion sickness. It's obviously something wrong inside my ear and will clear up. We just have to wait."

Jim nodded, hoping that Artie's optimism wouldn't be in vain. He took the cup into the galley before picking up the sack and taking out the rest of the things that he'd bought. He was surprised to find that the chamomile was missing. Looking around, he realized that the shopkeeper had obviously forgotten to put it into the sack with the rest of the things. Leaving the galley, he went back over to the couch that Artie was sitting on. "I have to go back to the store," he said. "They forgot to give me the chamomile."

"You don't have to do that now," said Artie. "We can pick it up along the way."

Jim shook his head. "I paid for it, I'll just go get it. Rest; I'll be right back." With that, he took Artie's arm and helped him lie down, making sure he was comfortable before heading for the door.

Artie sighed and closed his eyes. A minute later, he unexpectedly fell asleep.

Jim quickly walked through town, not wanting to leave Artie alone for long. As he passed a saloon, however, a man propelled himself out the doors and crashed into Jim, spilling whiskey all over him.

"Now look what you've done!" the drunk exclaimed. "You spilled my whiskey!" With that, he grabbed for his gun.

Before the man had the chance to pull it out of his holster, Jim punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.

The commotion brought people running, and unfortunately, the sheriff was one of them.

"Hey you!" the sheriff shouted, reaching over and grabbing Jim by the arm. "There'll be no brawlin' in the street! Yer under arrest!"

Jim shot him an incredulous look. "Arrest? There was no brawl here…this man fell out of the saloon and tried to shoot me when—"

"A likely story!" said the sheriff, leaning in and giving Jim a sniff. "You smell as much like whiskey as _he_ does!" He took out his gun and motioned with it for Jim to start walking.

"That's because he spilled his whiskey on me!" Jim told him.

A few of the men grabbed Jim from behind and the sheriff took Jim's gun out of his holster, pointing that one at him too. "Turn around, sonny, we'll discuss this in my office."

With both guns pointed at him, Jim had no choice: the men turned him around and forced him towards the jail.

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Some time later, Artie woke from his nap. The first thing he noticed was that his brain was still spinning. The second thing he noticed was how quiet it was. Slowly, he opened his eyes, holding back a groan and putting a hand over them for a moment. He eventually peered out from under his hand, and was surprised to see that Jim wasn't in the room…he'd expected to find him sitting in a nearby chair reading. He suddenly remembered that Jim had left the train to get the chamomile, and took out his watch. It appeared that an hour had passed.

"Jim?" he called. He got no answer. Frowning, he wondered where he was; Jim wouldn't leave him alone at a time like this…something must've happened.

Not thinking, Artie quickly sat up…and almost fell off the couch. He gasped and put a hand over his eyes when the dizziness intensified, leaning back against the couch. He had to stay that way for what felt like several minutes before he was able to open his eyes and slowly stand up.

Carefully, using everything in his path to hold on to, Artie made his way through the train car to make sure that Jim really wasn't there. When he found that he was right, Jim _was_ missing, he grabbed his hat and carefully made his way out the door and down the train's steps.

Standing there, still grasping the train's rail, he looked around the town, trying to see if he could spot Jim. It was quickly obvious that his friend was nowhere in sighed—despite his compromised eyesight—as no one in town was wearing a loud blue bolero suit. He slowly began to make his way through town, not walking very straight. He knew that people were giving him strange looks, probably assuming that he was drunk. Suddenly, the Kansas spring air made him sneeze again, and he grabbed onto a post and leaned his spinning head against it. He was extremely startled when a hand suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Hey you!" he heard. "Yer under arrest!"

Artie lifted his head and looked at him. "Arrest? Why?"

"Public drunkenness!" the sheriff exclaimed, trying to pull him away from the post.

Artie sighed. "I'm not drunk, I'm ill."

"Sure, sure," the sheriff said. "I've heard that one before. Come on, now…you can keep the other stranger I got in there company."

Artie sighed, but submitted. At least now he knew where Jim was.

TBC


	5. All This for a Box of Tea

Jim was pacing in his cell, very upset. He'd told the sheriff who he was, but he didn't have his identification with him, having left it on the train. He had a plan for when the sheriff came back…he was going to call him to the cell, grab him through the bars, knock him out, grab the key, and escape. Hearing a sudden noise, he was stunned to see the door fly open and Artie get propelled through, falling to his knees near the cell. "What are you doing?!" Jim exclaimed to the sheriff.

The sheriff was startled at his prisoner's unexpected shout. "What's it look like? I got a cellmate fer ya."

"Cellmate?" said Jim, kneeling at the bars and grabbing his friend through them. "Artie, are you all right?"

Artie's eyes were squeezed tightly shut and he was gasping from the intense vertigo that was spinning his brain. He didn't answer, leaning his head against the bars.

Jim looked up at the sheriff with murder in his eyes. "What is the meaning of this?!"

The sheriff was frowning at the odd display. "I found 'im stumblin' around drunk too."

"He isn't drunk, and neither am I!" Jim exclaimed. "We are _both_ federal agents for President Grant. My friend is very ill and I need to take him home. Let me out of this cell right _now_!"

The sheriff looked at the other cell, where the real drunk was snoring away, dirty and disheveled. As the sheriff looked at Jim and Artie—well-dressed gentlemen—he wondered if he'd made a mistake. The one in blue certainly didn't look or sound drunk, and he realized that he didn't smell alcohol on the dizzy one…not to mention the way the one in blue was acting regarding his friend. "Can you make bail?"

Jim's eyes hardened. "How much is it?" he asked, still holding onto his friend through the bars.

"Fifty dollars."

Jim didn't even blink. He gently let go of Artie and stood, before striding over to the bars. "My wallet?"

The sheriff took it out of a drawer in his desk and handed it to Jim.

Jim took fifty dollars out and gave it to him.

"And thirty dollars for—uh, nevermind," the sheriff said, deciding not to get bail for Artie's 'public drunkenness'. Instead, he opened the cell door and quickly stepped back.

Jim came out of the cell and knelt beside his friend. "Artie?" he said.

"Wondered where you disappeared to," Artie said, without moving.

Jim sighed. Artie should not have had to come after him in his condition. He took his friend's arm and carefully helped him turn around to sit on the floor against the cell.

The sheriff watched. "What's wrong with him?" he dared to ask.

Jim sighed. "The doctor isn't sure." He let Artie rest for another minute. "Do you think you can get up now?" he eventually asked.

Artie opened his eyes and blinked a few times. "Yeah."

Jim pulled one of Artie's arms across his shoulders and pulled him up carefully, tightly wrapping an arm around his friend's back and handing out his other hand towards the sheriff. "My gun?"

"Oh!" the sheriff said. He took that out of the drawer too and handed it over.

Jim stuck it into his holster before carefully turning Artie towards the door and walking him over.

The sheriff ran ahead and opened it for them. Instead of thanking him, Jim gave him a glare.

As they slowly walked past the shops, Artie suddenly asked, "Do I want to know how you ended up in jail?"

Jim sighed. "I'll tell you once we get back to the train."

Artie was quiet for a moment, before spotting a chair up ahead in front of one of the shops. "Can we stop for a minute?"

His request greatly worried Jim, who carefully lowered his friend into the chair.

Taking a deep breath, Artie put a hand over his eyes again.

Jim nervously watched his friend, wishing that there was something he could do to help him, when a voice suddenly startled them both.

"Oh, _there_ you are."

Turning, Jim spotted the owner of the general store walking towards him.

"I've been looking around for you," the shopkeeper said. "I accidentally forgot to put this in your sack." He held out the chamomile.

Jim took it. "Thanks."

"Anytime," the man said. "Have a nice day." With that, he turned and went back into his store.

Jim sighed as he looked at the small box in his hand. "This chamomile cost me fifty dollars."

Despite the dizziness, Artie couldn't help but laugh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once back on board the train, Jim told Artie what had happened.

"Oh brother," Artie answered, from where he lay on the couch. "That's ridiculous! All that for a box of tea!"

Jim sighed. "I couldn't believe it when he threw _you_ into the room." Shaking his head, he stood and walked around. "I'm sorry that happened, Artie."

Artie frowned. "Sorry? Was there any way for you to know that an overzealous sheriff was going to falsely accuse you of something?"

Jim sighed. "No. But you shouldn't've had to look for me in your condition."

Artie shrugged, closing his eyes. "I had to, Jim. You would've done the same."

Jim nodded. "I know." He watched his friend for a minute, before saying, "Denver has a big hospital. I think we should head there before Colonel Richmond gives us another case. Maybe they'll be able to help you."

The last thing Artie wanted was to go to a hospital. "Are we in Kansas?" he asked.

Jim nodded, before realizing that Artie couldn't see him with a hand still over his eyes. "Yes." He was too worried about his friend to wonder how Artie had figured that out.

_I knew it,_ Artie thought, his nose still stuffy from the spring pollen. "I think we should wait," he said. "This might go away."

"Or it could get worse," said Jim. "We might as well head in that direction; if it _does _go away, wonderful, but if it doesn't, then we'll already be there. It's not that far."

Artie sighed. He really didn't want the train to start moving again, in case he really did have motion sickness. He couldn't argue his friend's logic, though…and they sure couldn't stay where they were forever. "You're right. Besides, we don't want that sheriff coming up with another reason to arrest us," he said.

Jim chuckled and went to inform Orrin of their new destination.

Artie found himself bracing for the train's startup, before relaxing when he remembered that the crew had to do safety checks first. It would probably be twenty minutes or so before they were moving again.

Jim saw when Artie relaxed, and wondered why he'd tensed up. Was he in some kind of pain, now? "Are you all right?" he asked.

Artie removed the hand from his eyes. "Yeah," he said turning his head carefully to look at him. "Just not eager to get moving again."

Jim sat on the coffee table in front of the couch to make it easier for him. "Do you think it _is_ motion sickness?" he asked.

Artie sighed. "I have no idea, Jim. At the moment, I have no other symptoms to indicate otherwise." He assessed himself thoroughly, trying to ignore the dizziness enough to notice any other discomfort within his body. His nose was stuffy from the Kansas pollen and his head ached a little—but he knew that it was because the dizziness was disrupting his vision. Neither of his ears hurt…at this point, he wish they _did._

Fifteen minutes later, the train's whistle suddenly blew.

Artie immediately closed his eyes and covered them with his right hand, reaching with his left to grab hold of the coffee table, to keep his body steady. He was slightly startled when Jim's hand took hold of his wrist instead. He felt the couch move as Jim sat on it next to his hip and grasped his shoulder, keeping him anchored to the couch and minimizing the movement of his body.

The train's whistle blew again and it started to move.

Artie made no sound, remaining completely still as the train picked up speed.

Jim watched his friend, and once the train settled into its normal swaying rhythm, he saw that Artie didn't relax. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Artie's brain seemed to be everywhere _but _inside his head. The only answer he could give was a groan.

Jim gave a heavy sigh. Artie's reaction seemed to indicate only one thing: he was indeed suffering from motion sickness.

TBC


	6. Diagnosis

As the train chugged along, Jim watched his friend for a minute, before saying, "Is there anything I can do?"

_Stop the train,_ was what popped into Artie's head, but "I don't know," was what he said.

Jim sighed again and let go of Artie's shoulder. "Looks like it _is_ motion sickness, doesn't it."

Artie sighed. "Not necessarily," he said, hand still over his eyes. "_Anyone_ who's dizzy would get worse on a moving train."

That was true. Jim felt a little bit of hope at his words. "I can tell Orrin to slow down…we don't have to go so fast."

"I would appreciate it," Artie said.

Jim stood and did just that. Immediately, they felt the train's speed start to lessen.

A couple of minutes later, Artie moved his hand and opened his eyes.

"Better?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Artie answered, letting out a deep breath. His head was still spinning, but not as badly.

Jim was relieved.

The afternoon passed with Artie remaining on the couch, dozing on and off.

Jim ended up reading a book, but he didn't make much progress, as he kept looking at Artie to make sure he was all right. Eventually, suppertime approached, and he stood. "Artie?" he said. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Artie said, eyes closed.

"Feel like eating?"

Artie had forgotten all about food. He found that he wasn't very hungry.

Jim wasn't the greatest cook. President Grant had told them that he was sending them a valet to handle such things—Tennyson, Jim thought he called him?—but that wouldn't be for a couple of weeks still. He stood and went into the galley, coming out a little while later with leftovers from the night before.

When Artie heard him coming, he opened his eyes and carefully inched himself up to a sitting position, reclining on the couch.

Jim had put the plates on the table, and looked at him when he heard him moving. He saw that Artie did fine, so said nothing, instead heading over to hand him a plate.

Artie started to reach up to take it, but Jim placed it on his lap, not sure if he'd miss. "Thanks," he said.

Jim nodded. "Sure." He grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the couch, sitting on it and digging in.

They ate quietly for a minute before Artie said, "This is good. Oh, right." He tried to hide a smirk at the fact that_ he_ was the one who had cooked it the night before.

Jim chuckled. "I cook the way I make coffee, Artie…I think I'll wait until you're healthy enough to handle it!"

Artie laughed.

It didn't take too long to eat, and Jim took the plates and put them into the galley, before coming out with the coffee service. "No brandy for you," he said, placing it down.

Artie wasn't surprised to hear that; the last thing his brain needed was alcohol.

Jim poured it into a cup. "How do you take chamomile tea? I never tasted it before, myself."

"Same way as coffee," Artie said. "Milk and extra sugar."

Jim fixed it for him and handed it over, watching as he sipped it.

"Mmm," Artie said. "You're learning, Jim."

Jim chuckled again. He watched Artie for a minute, before asking, "How do you feel?"

Artie sighed as he lowered the cup. "I'm _dealing_ with it better…getting used to it now," he said. "It's not as bad when sitting or lying down."

Jim nodded, thinking how awful it was for someone to _have_ to get used to that. "No other symptoms have shown up?"

"No," Artie said, sipping the tea again.

They were both silent for a minute, each of them wishing that something had…something that would prove that it wasn't motion sickness.

The rest of the night passed slowly, and soon it was time for bed.

Jim carefully helped Artie get up, holding onto him tightly when he swayed.

Artie placed a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd tried to go slowly enough to prevent this, but after lying down for so many hours, it was obviously unavoidable.

Jim waited until he was ready before carefully helping him down the hall and into his room, helping him change his clothes and get into bed.

Artie was glad to be lying down again, and he blinked up at the swaying ceiling.

Jim sat in a chair near the bed. "Need anything?"

Artie closed his eyes. "No."

Jim nodded. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning," he said, optimistically.

Artie gave him a little smile at that.

Jim stayed there until he was sure that his friend was sleeping before he went to bed himself…hoping that his words would prove true.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning came quickly, and Jim went into Artie's compartment before making the coffee. What he found surprised him.

Artie was wide awake, holding a hand to the right side of his head…but he was smiling. "Morning, Jim."

Jim frowned. Artie was still obviously not well—the hand that he was holding to his head was proof enough, as well as his pale face—so why was he smiling? "Morning?" Jim answered. It sounding like a question.

The three words that Artie said next changed everything. "My ear hurts."

Jim blinked, before realization sunk in. "Really?"

"Yup," Artie said, still smiling.

Jim smiled back. "Don't take this the wrong way, Artie, but that's great!"

Artie chuckled. "I know," he answered, before wincing.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Jim asked.

"It's killing me," Artie answered, laughing again.

Jim shook his head. "Can I get you anything? Aspirin?"

"That would be nice," Artie said.

Jim quickly got it and returned. "How's the dizziness?" he asked as he helped Artie sit up and handed them to him.

"Not the worst," Artie said. "Thanks to lying down all night." He swallowed the pills with the water that Jim handed him, which turned out to be the lemonade.

"You should still see another doctor when we reach Denver," Jim said, sitting on the side of the bed. "Maybe they have some medicine that will help."

Artie inwardly sighed. Jim was right though…if it _was_ an ear infection—as it now seemed to be—the Kansas doctor said that he could lose hearing in his ear, and he did _not_ want that. "All right."

Jim nodded. "Good. Breakfast? I'm not so good at making pancakes, but I can do eggs and ham just fine…I think."

Artie chuckled. "Sure." He threw back the covers.

Jim put out a hand to stop him. "Maybe you should stay in bed."

Artie frowned. "I don't want to."

"But won't you be less dizzy if you stay put?" Jim asked. "We'll probably reach Denver by lunchtime."

Artie thought for a minute. Jim was right…he might as well just stay where he was for now. "All right."

Jim nodded and stood. "I'll be back."

"Okay."

Jim headed into the galley and managed to not burn the food. When he brought it back, Artie's eyes were closed, but he reopened them when he heard Jim come in.

"It smells like you were successful," Artie joked, carefully sitting up.

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, looks like it." He gave Artie his plate, and watched him as he ate. "So now we know what's wrong with you…well regarding _this_, anyway."

Artie smiled at the joke. "That's right, and I sure am relieved. I was beginning to think all kinds of terrible things."

Jim nodded. He had too.

Around noon, the train pulled up in Denver, and Jim helped Artie get dressed again, as he was still just as dizzy as the day before.

Artie's right ear was still hurting pretty badly despite the aspirin, and it felt blocked, too, dimming the hearing on that side, which was worrisome.

At the hospital, they didn't have to wait long before a doctor saw him. When they told him the symptoms, they were relieved to see that the doctor had hope.

"There's a scientist named Joseph Lister," the doctor told them as he examined Artie. "Who discovered, believe it or not, that the mold that grows on cheese seems to kill bacteria. Experiments have proved successful, so I decided to try it on my own patients, and I've had success myself."

"I read about that," said Artie. "It definitely seems promising."

The doctor felt Artie's forehead and found a low fever. "I'd like to offer it to you if you're willing to try it; I'm pretty sure that you have an ear infection."

Artie opened his mouth to say 'yes', but Jim interrupted with an incredulous, "_Mold?_"

The doctor nodded. "Mold. I know how it sounds, but it really does work."

"It's true, Jim," said Artie. "I'll try it," he told the doctor.

The doctor headed over to a cabinet and took out a bottle. "The instructions are on it. If you have any strange side effects, stop using it and come back. I want to see you again in three days."

"We might not be in Denver anymore by then, but we'll try," said Jim.

"If not, then make sure you see another doctor if you aren't better by then," the doctor told Artie. "If that's the case, can you at least send me a telegram to let me know if it works?" he asked Jim.

Jim nodded.

The doctor nodded too and handed him the medicine.

As they headed back to the train in the carriage, Jim studied the bottle. "Mold? Are you sure about this?"

Artie smiled. "It'll work, Jim, you'll see."

Jim looked doubtful. "Okay, Artie, but if you start to turn green and fuzzy, don't say I didn't warn you!"

TBC

That's true about Joseph Lister; he was the first person to 'discover' penicillin, in 1871, many years before Alexander Fleming did!


	7. Awful Taste

The bottle of medicine said to take it morning and night with meals, so Artie waited until they ate supper before he took the first dose.

Jim poured it into a spoon and held it out, pulling it back when Artie reached up a hand to take it.

Artie frowned. "What?"

Jim shook his head. "If I hand you this spoon, you'll spill it."

"No I won't," Artie said.

"Yes you will," Jim countered. "How _can't_ you when you're unable to see straight?" He smiled and held out the spoon again. "Open wide!"

Artie pursed his lips, annoyed, before obeying. When he swallowed it, he closed his eyes and his face screwed up in a wince. "Oh, _gah_!"

Jim grabbed Artie's hand and put a glass of water into it, not thinking that he'd probably miss his mouth in his haste to drink it…and that's exactly what happened; Artie bumped the glass against his face and water sloshed out onto his shirt before he managed to drink any of it. After he downed half the glass, he reopened his eyes and tried to look down at his wet shirt, but it made him dizzier, so he gave up.

Jim tried not to laugh. He went to the galley for a towel, and quickly brought it back, wiping at the water on his friend's shirt. "For your sake, I hope that stuff is worth it," he said, gesturing at the bottle.

"It will be, I'm sure of it," Artie said.

Jim was skeptical.

"Read the medical journal on the shelf if you want," said Artie. "It's all in there."

Jim shrugged. "If _you_ believe it, Artie, then _I_ do."

Artie smiled at the compliment, before making a face again. "It didn't say anything about the awful taste."

Jim shook his head. "Do doctors _ever_ warn people of that?"

Artie smiled again. "No. I bet they do it on purpose."

Jim chuckled.

The evening passed quickly, and Jim eventually read his book again while Artie dozed on the couch. He kept looking at his friend, wondering how long it would take for the drug to work.

"Probably after tomorrow's dose," Artie suddenly said, eyes closed.

Jim was startled. "What?"

"I knew what you were thinking as you stared at me," said Artie, opening his eyes. "I'll probably notice a difference tomorrow."

Jim shook his head with a smile. "How did you know?"

"I can read you like a book, James my boy," Artie said, smiling too.

Suddenly, the telegraph started to click.

Jim got up and went over to it, taking out a pad and pencil before sitting down and tapping an acknowledgement.

Artie tried to follow the message, but his dizzy head interfered, and he only caught some of it before he put a hand over his eyes in distress.

Jim eventually brought the paper over. "Did you catch that?"

"Only where we're going," Artie said, hand still over his eyes.

Jim sat down. "Someone with a strange new weapon is knocking trains off the tracks."*

Artie put his hand down and opened his eyes in shock. "Whole trains?"

Jim nodded. "Whole trains. We're ordered to investigate. There's an informant who we're to meet."

"I hope _this_ train isn't one of them," said Artie. "I'm getting attached to it."

Jim chuckled. "So am I."

The two agents were mostly quiet for the rest of the evening, each one thinking about this strange new mission…and both of them hoping that Artie would be healthy enough by the time they arrived to handle it.

"Whole trains?" Artie said later, as Jim helped him get into bed.

"Whole trains," Jim echoed.

"The power needed to accomplish that would have to be extreme," said Artie, lying flat and rubbing his forehead.

Jim nodded.

"_Very_ extreme," Artie continued. "I wonder how they accomplish it."

Jim folded his arms. "We'll find out soon. Go to sleep; the sooner you get over this problem, the better the chance that you'll be able to investigate with me."

"Mmm," Artie said, eyes closed. "Goodnight Jim."

"Night Artie."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Artie and Jim both dreamed of train crashes that night, thanks to their new mission, and when Jim woke the next morning, he found it to be later than he usually woke and peeked into Artie's room to find him still asleep too. He was glad that their new destination was on the Texas/Mexican border; Artie had plenty of time for the new drug to cure him. He made coffee and went into Artie's room, sitting in a chair and waiting for him to wake up.

It wasn't long before he did; the smell of the coffee was enough to wake anyone. "Have we crashed?" Artie asked.

Jim frowned at the odd question. "No, why would you think that?"

"I smell oil," Artie said.

Jim laughed. "Well, I'll go _get_ you some _oil_."

Artie chuckled.

A moment later, Jim came back with the 'oil', and helped Artie sit up. "The drug working yet?" Jim asked.

Artie sipped the coffee. Jim hadn't made it so strong this time! "Not yet. I only had one dose."

Jim nodded. He'd hoped anyway.

"_This_ is better," said Artie, indicating the 'oil'.

Jim smiled. "I'm glad that it meets with your approval. I think it tastes better this way myself. I don't know why I always made coffee so strong."

"Good!" said Artie. "One problem solved."

"Want breakfast yet?" Jim asked. "So we can work on solving the _other_ problem?"

Artie knew that his friend wanted him to take the medicine asap. "Sure."

Jim left and made eggs again. "You'll have to teach me how to make other things."

Artie ate some and found that they tasted fine. "I think you underestimate yourself. These are good."

Jim smiled. "Thanks, Artie." He picked up the bottle of medicine and read it. "I still can't believe that you're purposely ingesting mold."

Artie shrugged. "It sure beats leeches," he said, drinking his coffee.

Jim nodded and sighed as he lowered the bottle. "I have to agree with you there." He picked up the spoon that he'd brought and tapped it against his hand impatiently.

Artie inwardly smiled. "All right, Dr. Jim, I'm ready."

Jim smiled back and poured the medicine into a spoon before feeding it to him.

Artie didn't swallow it at first, holding it in his mouth until Jim gave him the water.

"Don't spill it this time," Jim joked.

Artie gave him a mock-glare and drank it, succeeding in sparing himself some of the medicine's bad taste. "I shudder to think what parents are going to go through trying to get their children to take this medicine," he said, handing Jim the glass.

Jim nodded. "That would definitely be a sight worth seeing."

Artie pushed the covers back and started to get up.

Jim tried to stop him. "Why don't you stay in bed? Resting will help the medicine work better."

Artie looked at him. "I can rest anywhere."

That was true. Jim was just so eager for Artie to quickly recover. He shrugged and helped him stand up.

"You're becoming quite the mother-hen," said Artie, closing his eyes against the dizziness.

Jim held onto him tightly. "Only with you," he said.

Despite the way his brain was spinning, Artie had to smile. Their friendship had been forged during the war, where he and Jim had been sent together on many missions and endured many horrors as a result, including terrible wounds and injuries. They'd become as close as brothers, and Artie sometimes wondered how they'd managed to keep each other alive sometimes.

He knew that Jim was fiercely loyal to him, and Artie was just as loyal to Jim. The two soldiers had managed to succeed at their dangerous missions against all odds, and General Grant had considered them the greatest asset to his troop, which was why he picked them without hesitation to be his first Secret Service agents.

As Jim helped Artie down the hall to the main room, Artie knew that the two of them were going to have the same success with their new missions.

TBC

'The Night of the Deadly Bed', season 1, episode 2.

Sorry if this seemed rushed...I wrote the whole thing as fast as possible literally just now...I slacked off thanks to writing two Maverick stories in the past two weeks, sorry!


End file.

Wild Wild West, Angst, Hurt-Comfort